


And the sky mourns

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a ritual that renders all angelic beings powerless, and destroys Heaven at the same time. Team Free Will and Heaven are on the same side at they try to save the 'pure' soul the ritual needs. Well, Team Free Will are really just there for the clean up. Like usual. Fill for Blindfold-spn, round 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the sky mourns

“What the hell is going on?” Dean demanded. “What’s wrong with Cas?”

Crowley looked down at Castiel as if he had only just noticed him, slumped to one side and drooling slightly on his trench coat. Crowley’s face was impersonal when he replied. “His rank are getting hit the hardest. They don’t have a heaven of their own to draw power from.”

Dean scowled. “What do you mean? He’s an angel, isn’t he? Well, most of an angel.”

Crowley gave Dean an impatient look. “Have you boys done _any_ of the required reading for the Apocalypse? Archangels have a heaven each. Heaven’s not just one great big blob – it’s split onto levels.”

“Great, Heaven is a high-rise and the lights are flickering and will you just _get to the point?_ ”

Crowley gave Dean a level look. “My point is, the devil himself has gotten bored with killing the odd angel, so he’s going straight to the source and killing Heaven instead. An archangel has their own personal battery pack, but the plebs? I bet more than half of them have lost their power already. And once they’re out of juice the big boys will follow.”

“ _How?_ ”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “The same way he does everything. He follows the instructions and adds a little panache.”

Dean’s scowl deepened into a glower, so Sam stepped forwards as the hunter-correspondent. “Do you know the details? Is it a ritual?”

“I do. Take one pure soul as a sacrifice, convince it to turn to the dark side with ample doses of bribery and torture, light some candles for a quick union of Heaven and Hell in the carnal sense,” Crowley paused to smile, a hard and cold flash of teeth. “And then the walls come tumbling down.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Lucifer is pretty convincing-”

“You think?”

“What I mean is, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you’ve got a while. Days, perhaps. He’s been working at this for the past few weeks.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Crowley shrugged. “I assumed it wouldn’t work.”

Dean shook his head. “Whoever is holding out this long must be some kind of a saint.”

“Angel,” Castiel coughed. His voice was more wrecked than usual, and he staggered as he hauled himself up out of the chair he’d been dumped in after he’d collapsed. “It’s an angel.”

Sam considered that. “I guess you can’t get much more pure than an angel,” but Castiel was shaking his head.

“Pure souls... they’re very rare.”

“Not even your Cassie has one,” Crowley added helpfully.

“A pure soul has never crossed God, never broken one of God’s laws. There are but a handful of them.”

“How did Lucifer get his hands on one?”

Crowley slouched against the doorframe. “From what I understand, two idiots went and told this one to go and deliver himself right into the devil’s hands.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, but Sam gaped at Crowley. “Gabriel? _Gabriel_ is a pure soul?”

Castiel lowered himself back down into his chair, admitting his defeat to gravity for the moment. “Yes. He left Heaven rather than choose between God’s word and his own duty.”

“But he’s a dick,” Dean protested. “All the people he’s killed don’t stack against him?”

“He’s the angel of vengeance, mercy, death and revelation,” Castiel replied, tilting his head back and letting his eyelids fall closed.

Crowley smirked. “Also, the angel of multitasking.”

“It was his duty to judge and punish,” Castiel continued, “until his death.”

“Except he’s not as dead as we thought,” Dean said. “Freaking angels.”

“I apologise on behalf of my species,” Castiel said dryly, his face pale and drawn.

“Yeah, well, how do we rescue his ass?”

Crowley pushed off the doorframe and gave the boys a wan smile. “Sorry lads, but I’ve helped you more than enough. I’m trying to keep my involvement with the losing side to a minimum.” And then he was gone.

“Well... great. That’s just really freaking great.”

“I can trace him,” Castiel said. “I am barely an angel, but our blood...”

“No way, you’re barely keeping it together with all of your vital fluids where they belong.”

Castiel managed to part his eyelids, and fixed Dean with a long, exhausted stare. “If Gabriel is bound, there won’t be anything of me to keep together.”

*

About ten miles from the building, the radio started playing static even after Dean had switched it off. It got louder and louder, the sound grating on their nerves and making Dean’s head whine. Two miles from the building, all of the windows blew out of the Impala, and Dean slammed the car to a halt. The engine died with an apologetic splutter, and Castiel was outside before Dean had finished slamming his hands on the steering wheel.

“Wait, Cas!”

And then Michael was beside Castiel, gripping his arm, and Dean thought - _prayed_ \- no, not now. Please not now. Michael looked at Dean and Sam, slumped in the front of the Impala, bowing under the weight of what they could only assume was Gabriel’s pain. He grabbed Castiel’s arm, helped him stand a little straighter, and together they walked along the road towards a building that looked like it was burning inside.

And then another angel walked past them, and another. They could make out the figures of well-dressed vessels, charming faces turned grim with determination. Many of them stumbled, looking as weak and worn as Castiel had, but still they came. Raphael stalked in from the west, his sword drawn and when lightning flashed overhead is was easy to believe that was just an extension of his dark mood.

There was nothing they could do but wait and prepare. They had the last of the holy oil, salt and holy water, a first aid kit – whatever good that would do. They sat against the hood of the Impala, sick from the high whine in air that was above their level of hearing, deeply disturbed in a way they weren’t used to feeling, a soul-deep feeling of wrongness. Dean jumped when Sam touched a finger just below his ear, was nonplussed when it came away bloody. “Yours are the same,” he shouted, but Sam couldn’t catch his words through the interference of screams they couldn’t hear.

And then a white light shot out of the roof of the building, turning dusk into midday for a long, blinding moment. The sounds of a protesting grace were gone, and Sam and Dean pushed away from the Impala and started running.

*

The floors of the building were burnt out from the inside. It looked like it had held offices at one point. It had become an empty shell, walls torn down and flattened, and the carpet soaked in red. Dean paused on the threshold. There was a lot of red, their feet sank into it.

“Hard to bleed out a vessel,” one angel said as it passed them. It was dragging a demon by the hair, ignoring the kicking and screaming. The Winchester’s pressed forwards.

“Quit apologising and get me my fucking _arm_ back.” They headed towards the familiar voice, though it sounded hoarse and weary. Castiel was kneeling by Gabriel, working at the ropes that tied him down with slippery fingers. “I have never been so glad to see a fallen angel in my fucking life,” Gabriel continued, but his words washed over them.

It looked like Lucifer had pulled him apart piece by piece and put him back together wrong. Skin of different tones lay across his body like patchwork, hacked up by shapes cut deep into his flesh. Red blood pooled around him, but as his body shifted there was the glimpse of something bright and painful deep inside his ribcage. Lucifer had cut his hair, shorn it off and left his brother looking strangely young. An angel finished pressing wet fingers against his face and Sam had the horrible feeling an eyeball was put back into place. Another angel hurried up with Gabriel’s arm, and placed it on the floor by the tender meat that remained of Gabriel’s shoulder.

Castiel looked up then, the last of the ropes falling away under his mostly-human fingers. There was a smear of blood across his cheeks, making his eyes painfully blue in comparison. Dean could see it in his mind – Gabriel’s grace tearing Castiel apart, making his eyeballs heat and blood well up in his tear ducts, the angel lifting the sleeve of his coat and wiping it away.

Castiel reached out with steady hands and pulled the jug of holy oil from Dean’s grasp. He coated his fingers in it before pouring it over Gabriel’s shoulder. He murmured in his rough and broken voice, and with his fingers guiding the shreds of muscle and the torn arteries, arm and torso began reaching out and connecting, a ballet of straining flesh that made Dean feel sick to his stomach.

It was only when Gabriel’s arm was back in place and he was trying to push himself up off the ground that Dean noticed he was naked. The carnage had made that detail so small and insignificant. Dean turned his head away, and helped Sam collect the rope that could lash down an archangel, coiling it into sticky loops, doing anything to keep his eyes away from the sight of Gabriel’s skin rearranging itself. Castiel took off his coat, crouched in front of Gabriel and pulled the tan fabric around his shoulders. Gabriel gave Castiel a long, loaded look. “Thank you,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel replied. The two angels rested their heads together for a moment, gathering their strength. Then Castiel dipped his fingers in holy oil one more, and began painting it over the sigils cut into Gabriel’s flesh, frowning when it refused to heal. Gabriel pretended that he didn’t notice, occupied himself with flexing his fingers. But eventually he raised a hand and rested his fingers against Castiel’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” Castiel said again. “It won’t heal.”

Sam was running out of distractions right about the time Michael showed up, Adam’s tennis shoes stained brown with drying blood and ash. He offered his hand to Gabriel who reached to take it, then stopped and reconsidered. He planted a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the other on the ruined floor, and climbed awkwardly to his feet. One of his legs remained bent, and as Sam saw the lines of a symbol carved into the inside of Gabriel’s thigh.

“I was almost too late,” Michael said.

Gabriel snorted. “Now _there’s_ a revelation.”

“I am glad you were strong.”

“Bite me.” Michael’s brows furrowed, not understanding the phrase. “You did this to him,” Gabriel said. “You made him so angry and so twisted he would bring down Heaven. You started the fucking Apocalypse and released the rabid hound you’d made.” Gabriel tore his attention away from Michael to trade fist bumps with a passing angel who was holding what looked suspiciously like the head of Lucifer’s vessel. But when Gabriel regained his focus his eyes were bright and angry. “You did this to _me_.”

“You chose neutrality,” Michael replied easily.

“I judged twin armies and found them both wanting,” Gabriel shot back.

Michael huffed a sigh, sounding impatient. “Gabriel, you take these things much too personally. This path has always been written.”

Gabriel stepped forwards and grabbed Michael’s chin with stained fingers, forcing the other angel to look into his eyes. “Don’t you dare try to preach our father’s words to me. I have worn the cloaks of vengeance and death. I preside over wars and I am the hand of justice. I have set fire to the earth and I am more than tempted to do the same to you.”

The angels around them had stopped moving, and Castiel drew himself up a little by Gabriel’s side. Dean did a quick head count. If Gabriel went and started _another_ holy war with his big mouth, well, Dean and Sam’s contributions would probably be limited to adding to the mess on the carpet and possibly decorating a wall.

Raphael appeared by Michael’s side, and put his hand on Gabriel’s arm. “Brother,” he said, and his voice was low and calm.

Gabriel turned his attention to Raphael without relinquishing his grip on Michael. “Take them away,” he said. “Take them all away, back to the heavens where they belong.” He raised his voice to the surrounding angels. “The party is over, everyone go home.” Angels started disappearing, and Gabriel let his hand fall from Michael’s face.

“Will you come with us?” Raphael asked.

Michael’s mouth twitched slightly. “You always were best when it came to dealing with mortals. Heaven needs your guidance on such matters.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Angels will walk on the earth no more.” Michael and Raphael looked startled, but Gabriel was bloody, barely clothed, and immoveable. “The devil is dead, and humanity has adapted well to life without Heaven’s interference. Go home.”

“You shall stay?”

“I have my job. Plus, I just renewed my cable subscription.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “You are choosing them over us?”

Gabriel nodded and gave his brothers a wide grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank dad you two still have each other, right?”

Michael and Raphael slid their eyes over to Castiel in unison. Castiel raised his chin defiantly at them. They looked back at Gabriel. “This one is your responsibility,” Raphael rumbled.

“Great, I’ve always wanted a pet. Now get out of here before this turns into a moment.”

Michael turned to the Winchesters and nodded formally at them before disappearing. Raphael lingered for a moment, staring at Gabriel. “Don’t let him get out of hand again,” Gabriel warned, and Raphael nodded, looking strangely lost. Gabriel held up a fist and after a moment’s hesitation Raphael bumped his knuckles against his brother’s. Then there was a flapping of wings, and the Winchester’s were alone with two angels, and a lot of blood.

Never one for poignant moments, Dean broke the silence. “I’m not cleaning this up,” he said, lifting one foot and grimacing at the threads of congealing blood that tried to glue him to the carpet.

Gabriel turned to the door, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his borrowed coat. “Let’s just set fire to this fucker and get the hell out of here.” He stumbled as he walked though, and as soon as they were outside Castiel made him stop and shuck the coat off.

Dean could do with less angel dick in his line of vision, but when Sam poured holy water over Gabriel’s body, Dean refilled the bottles from a tap that fed the sprinkler system and blessed it. And then Sam poured more holy water over him, and Dean refilled the bottle, and Castiel circled his fingers against the grime caked to Gabriel’s skin. Slowly it began to wash away.

Gabriel’s wounds still wept blood, and Castiel had to dig his fingers into each and every one of them, making Gabriel hiss and stagger. Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, both holding him up and holding him still as Castiel dug dark chips of something old and awful out of the sigils Lucifer had cut into his brother. Dean followed the bleeding trail that Castiel left behind, pouring holy water against wounds that looked cleaner somehow. Gabriel looked very human in his pain. Dean wished the water were at least warm.

When Gabriel was stuffed back into Castiel’s trench coat, looking wet and miserable, but not so close to death, Castiel took the salt, and the last of the holy oil, and headed back into the building. The Winchesters and Gabriel said nothing as they waited, the angel framed by their strong bodies. He didn’t have the presence he once had. Dean wondered when Gabriel would get his health bars back to full. Sam wondered when they had become familiar enough to witness Gabriel’s vulnerability.

“It’s ready,” Castiel said, appearing beside them. “Can you?”

Gabriel started to shake his head, but Dean pressed a box of matches into his hand. Gabriel looked down at the packet and huffed a laugh. “You monkeys think of everything,” he said. The building burned brightly, oddly coloured flames licking the evening sky.

“What happens to angels when they die?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Gabriel answered. “We just stop.”

Dean couldn’t bite back the question on his tongue. “Was your brother really going to bone you?”

Sam slapped Dean upside the head, and Gabriel’s answer was almost lost in the scuffling. “Yes. When I eventually got tired of the pain.” He reached up to run a hand through his hair, and stopped, rolling his eyes up and frowning at the short spikes that stuck out of his scalp.

“Will it grow back?” Sam asked. Castiel’s vessel was never-changing, recovering from almost everything, but the wounds carved into Gabriel were barely scabbed over. Sam wondered if they would scar.

“Maybe.”

“Let’s go,” Dean said. “Apocalypse is over, job is done. Pizza and motel time.”

No one spoke the as the four of them walked across the gravel and back to the road, Castiel holding his brother up with his arm around Gabriel’s ribs and one of Gabriel’s arms slung around his neck. “Treating your baby a little rough?” Gabriel asked as the Impala came into view.

“Shut up or you’re riding in the trunk,” Dean replied. But Gabriel gave the car a fond pat when he slumped against it, and Dean couldn’t quite hide his approval.

“So, what,” Sam asked as they found their paces within the comforting leather interior. “Are you joining up with us for good now?”

“At least until I get some pants,” Gabriel replied. He slouched down in the backseat with his eyes closed in exhaustion and no small amount of relief, and Castiel ran his fingers through Gabriel’s hair, making his face soften. “We’ll see.”


End file.
